


Obtuse

by Marmosette



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Duchess Cloverly, M/M, Rain, Umbrella
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-11
Updated: 2013-08-11
Packaged: 2017-12-23 04:30:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,125
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/922005
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Marmosette/pseuds/Marmosette
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The beloved Duchess Cloverly wanted some fluffy Mystrade with Mycroft, who normally sees everything, missing the obvious, and also being caught without his ubiquitous umbrella and being rescued by Greg Lestrade.</p><p>I mean. How can you say no to that? But it took me a year to fill the prompt. :/</p>
            </blockquote>





	Obtuse

Mycroft sighed. He checked his phone again. No message. He pushed the autodial for Anthea and got her voicemail. “Whatever the ambassador is selling does not warrant leaving an asset to walk home.” He hung up.  
The evening was chilly, and it was bound to rain. He had left his umbrella in the car, as the meeting was supposed to be five minutes, at most. Somehow, the Detective Inspector from the Met had strung it out to forty-five minutes. He hadn’t seemed so impossibly obtuse over the phone. Anthea had taken the car to her next assignment, and left Mycroft to improvise. After all, the ambassador’s timing was so much more important.  
He smiled grimly at the sarcasm and pulled up the collar of his coat. Doubtless there would be a cab before long. He pushed his hands into his pockets and set off for the main road. There were theatres in the area, even a transport hub. Those were the kinds of places people took cabs to, were they not? So it followed that there would be an empty one or several looking for their next fare.  
A rush of wind along the street made him flinch, reaching up to hold the collar of his coat close. It was strong, and cold, and cut through his shirt, making him wish for a scarf. Or, indeed, a car. And then the rain started. “Oh, balls,” he muttered, hastily reaching for the belt of his coat, wrapping it around himself and tying it firmly before trying to work the buttons. The rain was driving into his face; fat, juicy drops that splattered. He stopped and turned his back, hunching his shoulders, pulling his collar tightly against his neck. No cabs, no convenient awnings, no shops. What a bloody awful place for a downpour.  
There was a shrill whistle behind him and he turned, thinking someone was hailing a cab he hadn’t seen. Instead, there was a man running toward him down the pavement, a blue-and-white golf umbrella open over his head. He was holding it steady with both hands, an enormous grin on his face. “I thought you might be out in this,” the man called, clearly speaking to him.  
It took Mycroft a second to place him. “Ah, Detective Inspector. Lestrade, isn’t it? More questions?”  
Lestrade stopped beside him, raising the umbrella to cover them both. Mycroft stood, waiting. “Nah, just thought you might need rescuing.”  
“From what?” Mycroft asked as another gust swept another lashing of rain against him.  
Lestrade nodded sideways, tipping the umbrella into the storm. “All this. Saw you didn’t have yours. Very unlike you.”  
“I’m sorry, I don’t follow you.”  
“Your umbrella. You always have it. But you didn’t, today.”  
Mycroft smiled tightly. “Yes. Not everything goes to plan.” He turned back toward the main road, squinting into the wind and rain.  
“And I bet that doesn’t happen to you very often,” Lestrade said, casually falling into step beside him, holding the umbrella so it gave them both partial shelter, but blocked Mycroft’s view of the street.  
“No. Please excuse me.”  
“Yeah, sure. Wanna share my umbrella?”  
Mycroft glanced aside at him. “I meant that I am going now.”  
“So am I. Might as well share.”  
The man was persistent, and offensively cheerful. He didn’t even have to smile. Mycroft could simply sense the smile inside him. “Please go away.”  
“You’re not that stupid. It’s just an umbrella. Besides, you’ll never find a cab.”  
“That is not what the word ‘never’ means.”  
“Yeah, bollocks.” Lestrade lengthened his stride to keep up. “Your reputation preceded you, y’know. You’re supposed to know everything. Least, that’s what they told me.”  
“And what does that mean?” Mycroft sighed, resigned to having the man follow him like a lost puppy until he could find that mythical cab.  
“I get that you had access to all our intel before you got here - fair enough. But you’re supposed to be just as good with actual live people, too.”  
“I’m sorry if I disappointed you,” Mycroft snapped.  
“I’ll make you a deal. You can retain your flawless reputation.”  
“I honestly don’t care what you think of me.”  
Lestrade gave a little laugh. “I bet you know what I’m thinking.”  
“And I’ll bet you’re right.”  
Lestrade stopped him with a hand on his arm, stepping around between Mycroft and the rain. For a fraction of a second, Mycroft was glad. His suit trousers were already soaked from the knees down and damp halfway to his belt, his coat was drenched, his hair beginning to slid into his face. The front of his shirt was translucent, his tie was soaked, and his teeth were beginning to chatter. He folded his arms tightly across his chest, tucking his gloved fingers under his arms, and waited.  
“I’m serious. I bet you know what I’m thinking, right now. You’re the great government analyst, with all the insight, right? And I’m just a glorified PC, to you. I bet you can.”  
Mycroft studied him, shaking his head a little in disbelief. “I read your mind, and this is somehow a win, for you?”  
Lestrade straightened, daring him with his very posture. “Yeah, go on, then. And if you don’t know, I’ll give you my umbrella.”  
Mycroft frowned, trying to restrain his shivers. “What incentive do I have to be honest, then?”  
“Figure out what I’m thinking, and you’ll have your incentive.”  
Lestrade stood there for a moment, grinning at him. Mycroft’s lips thinned. Why had the meeting run so long? The man wasn’t actually an idiot, but he seemed to enjoy being able to make people think he was. Why would he want that? What would make him run after Mycroft on a day like this, with the freezing wind and the rain pounding down on the umbrella he was still trying to hold over both of them? Why make such a ridiculous, backwards wager?  
Mycroft lifted his head suddenly, his eyes widening. “No. You don’t…” He stopped himself with an effort. Lestrade’s grin widened. “Well. I...yes. All right.”  
“God, you are slow, though,” Lestrade said happily. “I’ll let you hold this. You’re taller.” He handed across the umbrella and pushed in against Mycroft’s side, wrapping his hands around Mycroft’s arm. “And look, there’s our minicab.”  
“Our?” Mycroft repeated as a small grey Honda pulled to the curb ahead of them.  
“Yeah, I called when I saw you on your phone outside. Where are we eating?”  
Mycroft let himself be bundled into the cab, snapping the umbrella shut just in time. He pushed the handle back into Lestrade’s hand, once they were settled. “Just because I knew you wanted to ask me to dinner doesn’t mean…”  
“You said yes, though. Fancy a curry?”


End file.
